


And Be My Friend

by rain_sleet_snow



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Fandom, Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly before her marriage, Harriet Vane receives an unexpected caller. (What sane writer of crime novels would pass up the chance to assist Hercule Poirot?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Be My Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I think I wrote this for somebody in fandom_stocking. It wasn't Annariel, but I can't seem find out who it *was*. I am more than happy to be reminded...

“I ’ave come,” the small and elderly gentleman announced, “in search of Lord Peter Wimsey.” He bent a surprisingly sharp eye on Harriet, who was slightly pink and flustered from the urgent summons. “It is a search of the utmost urgency. I understood I would find ’im here?”

Harriet assimilated the punctilious manners, the slight, educated French accent of someone who was not a native English-speaker and took pains with his diction, and the air of suppressed concern. “Yes – that is to say, yes, he is.”

“And you, I collect,” the gentleman said ponderously, “are Miss Vane.”

Harriet found her hand was being kissed. “Er – yes,” she said, startled. “And you are…?”

“Monsieur Poirot. Hercule Poirot. It is a great pleasure to meet someone so dear to my friend - and, of course, an author of the most talented. May I congratulate you on your recent engagement? And may I also request that you inform Lord Peter of my presence at your earliest convenience?”

“Of course,” Harriet said, reeling ever so slightly. Legends of detection didn’t drop in for tea and urgent conferences every day – at least, Peter did so, but Harriet was strongly of the opinion that fiancés did not count. “Do come in.”

She shut the front door, and conducted him upstairs to the Mecklenburgh Square flat. Peter was now fully dressed and entirely composed as he and Monsieur Poirot fell on each other with cries of delight and much old chapping and dear friending; Harriet caught sight of herself in the mirror, cursed Peter, and arranged the collar of her shirt to hide several indiscreet marks.

“Monsieur Poirot said he came upon an urgent errand,” she said, realising that the conversation seemed in danger of drifting.

“Ah yes,” Poirot said. “My friend, it is a dangerous matter.”

“Go on,” Peter said, dropping into a chair. Harriet suggested to Poirot that he also take a seat, and sat herself.

“At least – it is delicate,” Poirot allowed. “A matter of blackmail, over a murder twenty years old. The gentleman claims he is not responsible, but there is much evidence… And he is a gentleman of the most distinguished. If his reputation were to be stained, there would be – consequences…”

“Of the political variety?” Harriet filled in.

Poirot’s eyes glittered. “Madame, you are most astute.”

Harriet took this for the confirmation that it was, and glanced over at Peter.

“Are you saying, Poirot,” Peter said, sitting back in his chair and propping one ankle on the other knee, “that you would like Harriet and myself to toddle along and do a little asking here and there, see which way the wind is blowing...?”

“I thought perhaps,” Poirot said.

“Come now,” Peter said, grinning. “You can’t dangle a mystery like that in front of us and expect us to leave it alone. Unless…” His smile faded a little. “Harriet, are you otherwise engaged?”

“No,” Harriet said quickly. The short story manuscripts to pay for Peter’s present had already gone, and she couldn’t possibly pass up a chance to see Hercule Poirot at work: every scrap of professional feeling she had screeched at the very thought of doing so. “No. I’d be _delighted_ to join you.”

“So, maestro,” Peter said, turning back to Poirot, who was smiling knowingly. “What are our orders?”


End file.
